


Those Autumn Leaves 🧡

by AstroHawthorne, LORDSLAYER69



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Romance, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-10 02:53:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,849
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27646432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AstroHawthorne/pseuds/AstroHawthorne, https://archiveofourown.org/users/LORDSLAYER69/pseuds/LORDSLAYER69
Summary: Autumn has this strange powers to bring people together that are perfect for each other and Harry Potter and Fleur Delacour are going to be no different.
Relationships: Fleur Delacour & Harry Potter, Fleur Delacour/Harry Potter
Comments: 13
Kudos: 34
Collections: Flowers of Autumn





	Those Autumn Leaves 🧡

**Author's Note:**

> AN- This one-shot is the part of the autumn collection for the flowerpot server and is written by Astro and LORDSLAYER69. This one-shot is in a unique order as you guys will find out later. We as in Astro and LORDSLAYER69 would also like to thank David Athenai, HonorverseFan and Charlennette for their wonderful editing skills. This would not have been possible without the above mentioned people! Check out their cool stories too. Also join the flowerpot discord server, it has many amazing people and even more amazing story recommendations! The link is https://discord.com/invite/q63UUxD Anyways on with it-

Fleur Delacour-Potter loved autumn. Despite being the season right before winter, by far the worst time of the year for a perpetually cold Veela, she always had good luck around the time the leaves began to fall.

The sun had dipped down low enough to touch the horizon as Fleur Delacour-Potter sat in Parc Monceau, reading a novel. The park itself was beautiful. Piles of leaves, swept neatly into small-piles by the groundskeepers, dotted the grounds in and around the large, stately trees that provided shade overhead. Whether intentional or not, the leaf piles made prime targets for enterprising children (or adults) looking to have some fall fun. The leaves come to the autumnal air as the blooms come to the spring, in a triumphant hurrah of color. Trees now almost free of the burden that once weighed them down were stretching their branches to the sky, like a tired man preparing for sleep after a hard day of work. 

Fleur glanced up from her book to spy on her children's antics for a moment. With a loud crunch, another pile of leaves fell victim to Victoire’s furry boots, almost losing her balance as a plume of leaves shot up around her. James just laughed at her antics and helped his big sister find her balance, ever the helpful one. Leo, however, had gotten the Marauder genes. He leaped towards his older siblings with both arms outstretched, bringing all three of them down together back into the leaf pile. 

Victoire's high, melodious laugh rang across the park, followed by James and Leo's quieter giggles. All three of them rolled around, grabbing fistfuls of leaves and attempting to stick as many leaves as possible into each others' hair.

She shook her head at their playfulness, and with a glance at her watch, she began to wander towards them. It was 20 past 7 o'clock. They were late for dinner, and it was time to head home. However, the children were not done with their fun yet.

“Maman!” they cried out together and rushed towards her tackling her into yet another leaf pile. Fleur tossed her book to the side and allowed herself a moment of fun, sweeping her arms through the leaf pile with them, and making sure each of them got at least one handful of leaves tossed in their direction.

_ “Jouons maman,”  _ exclaimed Victoire in pure joy, laughing as Leo tickled her.

Standing up from the pile, she pulled all three of her children to their feet. With a surreptitious flourish of her wand, she vanished the leaves on all of their clothing, still smiling at their antics.

As all her children hugged her tight, she ducked behind a large tree and felt the pull of apparition transport them home, blinking back into existence in the front foyer of their home. The house smelled wonderful, with the scent of the roast in the oven drifting through the air mixed with the comforting smell of hot chocolate, cinnamon, and peppermint.

Harry emerged from the kitchen to greet them, and swept Fleur into a big hug, sandwiching their children between them in the process. She leaned into his warm embrace for a moment, and as she pulled away she noticed chocolate handprints on her blue jumper.

“Harry!” she exclaimed indignantly as the children giggled at her misfortune, the little traitors.

“I was putting the finishing touches on the hot chocolate!” he replied with an innocent smile. "Besides, you're overlooking the fact that  _ someone _ lost track of time at the park again."

“Being late does not mean that you can ruin my favorite blue jumper. Mon dieu, tu es impossible,” she huffed and pouted. She looked down at her jumper again, thinking about just how many cleaning spells it would take to get the chocolate out.

She had him cornered now. Cornered and vulnerable to her greatest weapon: the Veela pout.

She crossed her hands in front of her and let a little of her allure loose, just enough for her hair to start glowing with faint gold light. No one in the room was affected by the allure itself, but it was a necessary part of the dramatics.

Harry’s mischievous smile grew at her teasing, and he ducked behind the children, making a show of hiding his eyes using Victoire's ponytail. “C’mon guys, show your mother our greatest weapon.” 

James and victoire giggled a little bit but Leo never messed up a chance for mischief, he ran his hand through his black hair to muss it up slightly, and with a twinkle in his eyes he gave his mother the cutest puppy dog look and soon James and victoire joined in. The scene was far too heartwarming for Fleur to stay angry.

“I hate you all,” she said with a smile.

“So… Hot chocolate, Harry?” asked Fleur with a mischievous glint in her eyes.

“Of course, Madame, we have five steaming mugs of hot chocolate waiting on our kitchen counter, each with two of the fluffiest marshmallows money can buy, and yours carefully situated in a carefully selected 'No. 1 MOM' mug, quite an exquisite vintage, I do say," Harry said in a terrible poncy posh accent before breaking character and cracking a smile. She laughed alongside him and shook her head.

Her husband was still an idiot.

Her idiot.

* * *

The newly-minted Fleur Potter still felt like she was walking on air sometimes. Even though their honeymoon had been over for a week, she still felt ecstatic every time she thought about the ring on her finger, and the man she loved.

Having a Halloween wedding had seemed quite unconventional to their family, but Fleur had insisted on the day. She wanted to give Harry a happy memory on a day that had brought him so much trouble. What a beautiful, ridiculous wedding it had been. The ceremony went smoothly. Harry looked at her like she had hung the moon when she walked down the aisle. And, most importantly, the reception was the kind of beautiful chaos she had expected when they had invited the entire Delacour and Weasley clan.

With a little explaining from Harry and Hermione, all the non-muggleborn invitees had gotten into the spirit of the season, and came up with a vast array of ridiculous costumes. Her fondest memory of the night was definitely when her father, dressed as Napoleon, comically challenged Mr. Weasley to a duel with rubber swords for his daughter's hand in marriage. The match had been called a draw after both participants were hit with surreptitious laughing jinxes from the audience, and left unable to continue.

Seeing Harry laughing alongside everyone else, without a care in the world, was everything Fleur had wanted since the end of the war. He sacrificed so much for others that it was nice to see him cut loose and not think about anything besides his own happiness for once. After realizing just how intense his 'saving people thing' was, Fleur had made it her mission to make sure Harry took time to think about himself, and what he needed, more.

Harry thinking about his own needs was what had brought them to today. The sun had barely broken through the cloud when the soft pop of apparition through the empty streets of Godric's Hollow. The pale orange light of sunrise bathed the houses, and the grass in the small gardens was still sprinkled with dew. Their breath emerged as white wisps in the cool air. The village had not changed since the war, not that conflict had ever reached the small, sleepy town. So many places had escaped Voldemort's reign unscathed, and although Harry knew that to be the truth, it still felt odd to see somewhere untouched by the war that had consumed his life for years.

Fleur’s warm and gentle touch on Harry's back spurred him into action. Despite the cold of the season, he always could rely on his lovely wife to save him from himself. No words were exchanged as they headed towards their destination in comfortable silence. But, there was still a dry lump in Harry’s throat as he dragged his eyes over the vaguely familiar buildings to the church gates. Everything exactly the same as when he had visited with Hermione.

Harry nodded stiffly to himself as they walked hand in hand towards the graveyard. He had wanted to bring Fleur to visit his parents for a long time, his last visit had been too fleeting as they frantically searched for Horcruxes. He had not even thought to do anything more sentimental than pause for a moment in grief, although there had been many more pressing concerns at the time. Now, however, Harry had everything he ever needed. Small shadows trailed away from every gravestone as the sun climbed a little higher in the sky. They searched for a while to find his parents' grave, finally approaching a huge tree in the back corner of the lot.

"I think it might be one of those," Harry said hesitantly, indicating a group of newer marble graves just off the main path. They moved slowly down the row, and both pairs of eyes searched over the carved names. Harry suddenly stopped. Two stones away from where they stood rose the stone marking his parents' resting place. The morning air caught in Harry's chest. As he and Fleur drew nearer to stand in front of the grave, he felt his jaw clench, and eyes prickle.

He felt accomplished. Feeling as if he had finally succeeded in making sure their deaths were not in vain. Harry looked at his father's name and imagined James smiling back at Harry with a reflection of his own relieved happiness. His eyes dropped to his mum's name. A warm feeling filled him inside as he recalled what she had said to him as he walked through the Forbidden Forest. She loved him, and he had done her proud. Harry let out a shaky breath. Fleur didn't say anything, but she leaned her head against Harry's shoulder and slowly stroked his arm.

"It's just-", Harry faltered and wiped his eyes beneath his glasses. "The wizarding world is so different now. I wish they were here to see it."

“They would be so proud of you," Fleur replied. Gazing at the gravestone shining in the dawn, Fleur had a hard time comprehending a childhood without her parents. She had always had her mother, father, and sister by her side, and could not imagine life if even one of them were missing. Although, now she had another family member to add to that list.

Harry James Potter.

"Are you going to leave flowers?" she asked, kissing him gently on the cheek.

“The only flower they would ever care about is already standing by my side," Harry replied, shaking his head.

Tears leaked from Fleur’s eyes this time, she shakily nodded.

“I feel like I should say something," Harry muttered. "But I don't know what…".

Fleur smiled and squeezed his hand. "You could tell them about us," she said, and Harry looked from her to the grave. Noticing his hesitation, Fleur amended her statement. "Or, I could?"

"Go ahead," Harry replied.

Fleur stepped forward and knelt down. Sitting back on her heels, she gently wiped some morning dew from the smooth surface. Here in the graveyard at dawn with only Harry behind her, Fleur focused on the etched names and brushed her fingertips across the cold white marble.

"Hello…" she paused, unsure how to start. She felt Harry shift behind her slightly resting his hands on her shoulder for support, and continued.

"My name is Fleur Delacour-Potter. I… I just want to say thank you. To both of you. Thank you for defending Harry and for… sacrificing

yourselves. I know you would be so proud to see what Harry and all of our friends have achieved." Fleur stopped and swallowed the lump in her throat.

"Some of us have joined you in the afterlife," memories of Tonks, Remus, and Fred flew through her mind. Biting back her own tears, Fleur tucked a strand of silvery hair behind her ear.

"But, please, keep an eye on us here. We still need you, and we still remember you," She turned to see Harry again wiping his eyes. She returned his smile before turning back to the gravestone. "And I hope Harry and I have your blessing for our marriage, even though there was no way we could ask you in person. I promise you I will take care of him, and love him, for a long, long time."

Harry felt the tightness in his chest release a litte. As he gazed down at Fleur, he knew that despite everything, he was one of the luckiest people in the world.

A quiet gust of wind swept up behind him, ruffling his hair, as if in agreement.

* * *

After so many years of fear and chaos, peace felt surreal. One week had passed since the Battle of Hogwarts. There were speeches, celebrations, and award presentations. They had conclusive proof that Voldemort was finally no more. But, it still felt like Harry was waiting for Britain to descend back into chaos. Everyone in the Order was dealing with the newfound freedom in their own ways: Molly was doting on Ginny and George at every opportunity. Ron and Hermione were in Australia to restore the Granger parents' memories. Kingsley and Minerva had thrown themselves into restoring the Ministry and Hogwarts to some semblance of function and normalcy.

That moment, as he stood over Voldemort, had felt like the best moment of Harry's life. He was triumphant. The prophecy was fulfilled. His friends and family were finally safe.. But by the next morning, he woke up feeling empty, hollow, caught up in thought about those he had lost. Staying in The Burrow only made things worse. Every time Fred, or any of the other countless people lost in the war, came up in conversation, Harry felt like a fraud. Victory felt hollow when he could not save everyone he loved.

After two nights at the Burrow, Harry returned to Grimmauld Place, intent on making the old stuffy townhome less dreary and getting some much-needed breathing room. The manual labor and constant cleaning spells at least provided a worthy distraction. He even spent an afternoon removing the entire section of the wall containing Walburga's portrait. If anyone questioned the change, he would tell them that 'open concept floor plans' were all the rage among muggles.

Over breakfast one morning, as Harry idly considered whether he should work on the second-floor sitting room or third-floor bedrooms next, a tawny brown owl swooped in through the window. It alighted on the table and offered its leg to Harry with an imperious and almost haughty gaze. Untying the letter and giving the owl the remains of his breakfast to keep it occupied, Harry began to read:

_ Dear Harry Potter, _

_ Now that the war is over, I am holding you to an old promise. You will come visit the Delacour Estate, and together we will figure out what this mysterious pumpkin spice is. Our manor house has sufficient accommodation to support you as long as our research might take, and Mama and Papa are dying to see you again. _

_ Should you choose to ignore my request, I will have no choice but to inform Gabrielle that her ridiculous schoolgirl crush might be mutual. You may think that the affection of a 13-year-old is not sufficient coercion, but Gabrielle has been plotting for this eventuality since the day you pulled her out of the Black Lake. She will pursue you to the ends of the Earth if she thinks there is a chance. _

_ Do not make me resort to extreme measures, _

_ Fleur Delacour _

So, on a bright sunny afternoon in southern France, one week after the Battle of Hogwarts, Fleur and Harry strolled down the sidewalk of the small muggle village close to her home, freshly-brewed pumpkin spice lattes in hand. Fleur strode confidently next to him, brandishing her latte to and fro as she described how frantically excited Gabrielle had been when she learned Harry was coming to visit. Her light blonde hair flowed free in the autumn breeze. Harry could not help but smile as he noticed the orange leaf still stuck in her hair, as it had been for several minutes. She seemed oblivious to its presence and was so caught up in her story that Harry could not bring himself to interrupt.

Since his arrival the night before, the Delacour family appeared to be intentionally avoiding mentioning the war. Instead, Monsieur Delacour had regaled Harry with a tour of their quaint country manor. Following that, Gabrielle dragged him around on an impromptu tour of the gardens around the house while Fleur trailed behind to protect Harry from her younger sister’s boundless enthusiasm. The whole family spent the entirety of dinner waxing poetically about why French cooking is the best cuisine to grace mankind.

The normalcy of visiting friends with no obligations or pressure was freeing. Remaining in Britain felt oppressive. Everywhere he looked there were reminders of the war that just ended. But France? France was the breath of fresh air Harry had not known he needed. Even more than France,  _ Fleur _ was the breath of fresh air Harry had not known he needed.

Harry stopped daydreaming just as Fleur looked at him expectantly, obviously expecting a reaction to her story.

“Honestly, Gabi’s enthusiasm has been a breath of fresh air. Back home, all I got was congratulations on winning and condolences for friends who died. It’s… nice to hear someone talk about literally anything else. The pessimistic part of me still feels that declaring victory is premature and that Voldemort has one more trick up his sleeve to keep the war alive.”

Fleur gave him a sympathetic look before replying. “We won. We finished the fight. You finished the fight, Harry. Won the war against the greatest evil in decades. But it’s over, and that will take time to sink in. I came home to my parents as soon as the fight was won because I needed to remind myself there was a life outside of fighting.”

At this admission, her eyes fell to the ground for a moment. She scuffed the toe of her fur-lined boot through some of the leaves lining the edge of the sidewalk.

"Why did you fight? Voldemort was Britain's problem. You could have stayed in France, with your family, and waited things out in peace and comfort here," Harry said, gesturing at the village around him.

"I stayed because I cared about defeating a man whose followers hated Veela, werewolves, and muggle-borns. A man that evil must not be allowed to take power. Even more than the cause, I fought for the people I met in Britain that I cared about. For Cedric, for the students of Hogwarts, and for you, Harry," she said trailing off a little with the last admission.

They trudged along in silence for a few minutes, sipping their drinks. Reaching the edge of the village park, they sat upon a park bench at the village's edge. Huge maple trees dotted the grounds, surrounded by a well-kept field of green grass where several muggle families were picnicking. A lazily burbling stream ran through the center of the park, providing its own music to the scene.

"Thank you, Fleur. For inviting me into your home. For caring about me, and for caring enough to help a  _ little boy _ through a competition everyone else thought he cheated his way into. It means more than you could know," Harry said.

"Of course I care, Harry. Because you are worth caring about," Fleur said, leaning over to rest her shoulder against his. He leaned into her touch a little and took a sip from his latte. They fell silent, enjoying the moment.

They gazed across the park, watching as children played, leaves fell, and people went about their lives happy and carefree. And for the first time since the war ended, Harry felt like he could breathe again.

* * *

Ron could not resist making a fool of himself whenever Fleur was around. Really, it was starting to get ridiculous. Harry might be a teenage boy also, but at least he didn’t go slack-jawed every time Fleur blew by in a whirl blue Beauxbatons robes. She was unfailingly polite to him after her half-apology by the lake and even slipped him a note with the names of several famous dragon researchers the weekend before the First Task. He already knew about the dragons from Hagrid, but he appreciated the thought. Even worse than the staring, was Ron’s stunning ability to put his foot firmly in his mouth at every available opportunity.

“You, I, uh, Hogsmeade?”

“Did you fall from heaven because, uh… go out with me?”

“Is your mom as hot as you are?”

  
Harry was sick of making half-hearted attempts to assuage Ron’s bruised ego. There is only so much you can reasonably say to lift someone’s spirits when every problem is their own fault. Everything was Fleur’s fault according to Ron.  _ She just won’t give me a chance. _ Ugh.  _ What kind of impossible standards does she have?  _ Really?  _ Which part makes her so rude? The Veela, the French, or both? _ Yeah, Harry’s patience was quickly running out for his best friend

* * *

On a dreary, boring Thursday afternoon, Harry ran out of patience. As they fought their way through the halls toward Transfiguration, Fleur strutted by with a gaggle of Beauxbatons students, and Ron, as always, did not let the opportunity to show his indignation slide.

“What's it like as an ice queen?” he harrumphed under her breath, throwing a baleful glance over his shoulder at Fleur.

Harry, having mostly tuned out Ron’s snide comments weeks ago, completely misheard the statement as: “She really likes ice cream,” and figured that Ron had gone and done some research to improve his chances with Fleur, for whatever good that would do him. Well, even if Ron would inevitably bungle whatever future attempt he had planned, at least Harry could get some use out of the information. He muttered something about catching up to Ron in a minute, then dove into the crowd after Fleur. Catching up and falling into step with the Beauxbatons group, he quickly caught Fleur’s eye and she quirked a curious brow in his direction.

“I heard you like ice cream,” Harry started. “There’s a really good shop in Hogsmeade and I’d, uh, well, like to thank you for your advice for the First Task, and for actually believing that I don’t want to compete. So, if you’re free this weekend, I could treat you?”

Fleur looked more than a little amused by the request, and Harry’s confidence started to falter a little. Getting ice cream was a reasonable request, right? He just wanted to pay her back for the help and didn’t have any better ideas. Noticing his nerves visibly rising some at her delayed response, Fleur took pity on him with a soft smile and agreed to meet early Saturday morning and head down to the village together.

* * *

Harry had not thought this ‘casually take Fleur to Hogsmeade to thank her for helping you with the deadly competition which someone definitely is using to get you killed’ plan through. Honestly, he was starting to regret the whole idea.

Fleur was not the problem, no. She was chattering away happily complaining about the English weather and speculating on the Second Task. Her own attempts to open the egg had also been quite painful, and the only real lead she had right now was a book on magical languages she found in the Beauxbatons carriage library. So far, the book had helped rule out all known dark creatures from Romania, Bulgaria, and Turkey. Better progress than Harry had made, by far. The real problem was that being out in public with the French Veela drew entirely too many eyes for comfort. Every student they had passed had cast at least one side-long glance his way. He was sure of it. He could feel their eyes burning into the back of his head and almost hear the gossip mill spinning up again.

Their arrival at Cairns Ice Cream could not have come fast enough. The shop was tucked back away from the main thoroughfare, on the opposite side of Hogsmeade from Honeydukes. When they wandered in there were only a few older Hufflepuffs peering through the glass at the day’s flavors. Cairns certainly felt the spirit of the season. The small store was filled to the brim with colorful enchanted leaves which weaved along the rafters, down the walls, and up the legs of the tiny tables lining the walls of the shop. The ice cream freezer itself also sported decoration. Prominent lines formed brown, orange, and gold letters spelling out the shop’s name across the normally flat-white appliance before trailing off across the surface to create the outline of falling leaves that swayed in an invisible wind.

Mixed in between the standard ice cream flavors, there were some new additions to the line-up that brought the fall spirit in full force. They had Iridescent Apple Crisp (pale ice cream with apple chunks that glowed with every color of the rainbow), Every Flavor Pie (which seemed to be waging war against itself in a constantly shifting fight between blueberry, blackberry, pecan, and pumpkin flavor), and one that magnetically drew Fleur’s attention.

“What is this, ‘Pumpkin Spice’? Does it actually taste like pumpkin? How am I supposed to know what it is?”

“To be honest, I don’t know what it is myself. I’ve actually never heard of it before.”

“Well, I will try it then, and we will see what exactly this ‘pumpkin spice’ is,” Fleur said with more resolve and commitment than was ever really warranted in an ice cream shop. As the Hufflepuffs shuffled off to the side, Fleur stepped up to the counter, ordering her mysterious ice cream and a hot chocolate. Harry trailed behind, hastily deciding on a heaping scoop of Every Flavor Pie, and then rushed to pay before Fleur could interject.

With a nod to the owner, they set off to wander along the edge of Hogsmeade with their new treats. In the few moments that they had been inside the shop, the sun had peaked from behind the clouds. Sometimes Harry forgot how dreary and cloudy Scotland could be, but the gentle sunrays drifting down felt like a dream compared to the usual flat grey sky. Along the forest edge, trees shed their leaves with each gust of the breeze, sending red, orange, and yellow leaves drifting lazily down to land on the cobblestone of the village streets.

Grabbing a seat in the corner of the shop, Fleur took a lick of her ice cream. She stared at the cone for a second, seemingly deep in thought, before tasting it again. With a squint, she peered at the scoop of dessert with enough intensity that Harry barely managed to contain a giggle.

"Zis tastes nothing like pumpkin!" She complained loudly. "It is good, yes, but why do they call it that? It is, how you say... a misnomer?"

At this, Harry could no longer contain a bark of laughter, earning a sharp glare from Fleur, who looked perfectly betrayed at his reaction. As he tried to contain his giggles, she finally cracked a small smile too and chuckled along. Feeling bolder than usual, Harry decided a little ribbing was in order.

"If we survive being put in mortal danger for the enjoyment of the entire wizarding world in this stupid tournament, I'm sure we can put our heads together and find out the secrets of pumpkin spice afterward, Fleur," he said with a smile.

"I will hold you to that,” Fleur said, returning his smirk.

* * *

Orange leaves swirled along the shoreline of the Black Lake, and Fleur cinched her overcoat tighter to fight off the chill. Yesterday had been a whirlwind, and the heady pride of being named the Beauxbatons champion was giving way to nervousness about the challenges before her. As she crested the hill, she noticed a mop of black hair tucked up against the trunk of a tree. She trudged over through the leaves and gave him a small, polite wave.

“Our introduction yesterday after the ceremony was not my best moment. I would like to try again if that is alright with you,” she said with a slight grimace. “My name is Fleur Delacour, Triwizard champion for Beauxbatons.”

He seemed impressed by the half-apology, and gave her a slight smile, and dug his toe into the grass underfoot, shifting nervously before replying.

“Harry Potter. Halloween has never been a lucky day for me,” he said sheepishly.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Harry. Hopefully, the rest of your year is not quite as bad as yesterday.”

And that was the start of a wonderful fall.

**Author's Note:**

> Would love a review on this!!


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